Building bridges, destroying brain cells
by Shinora1996
Summary: Eurovision 2015 is to be held in Austria, and as always, Denmark and the Netherlands gamble with what's left of their dignity betting on the winner. Just like last year, Netherlands has invited Canada to watch the contest with him. And for moral support, as he's terrible at winning bets. Read at own risk. NedCan, mentions of DenNor. T for language and probably chapter 2.


****Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, Eurovision, or any of the characters/people mentioned in this fic.****

Yes, it's a little late, but I wasn't going to let this chance go to waste. I wrote this chapter about a month before the actual first rounds, but I didn't get to re-read or tweak it as I was (and still am) very busy. It's not very good, but I wanted to have this up.

Human names are used in conversations.  
Non-canon names:

The Netherlands: Abel Diepeveen  
Denmark: Mathias Køhler  
Australia: Jett  
Belgium: Judithe Vandemaele  
Luxembourg: León Krier  
Norway: Aleksander 'Aleks' Bondevik  
Iceland: Lukas Bondevik

~o~o~

It was the night before the first semi-finals of the Eurovision Song Contest, and every country present was getting settled into their hotel rooms before getting a tour of Vienna. However, Denmark and the Netherlands had opted to sneak out of the group, and into a café for a good glass of Austrian Weißbier. Normally, Austria would have yanked them back into the group by their ears and scolded them for being rude if they pulled a stunt like that. Not this time. The host nation clearly saw them, gave them a nod of approval and let his beer-loving friends sneak away unseen. This might just have been because he knew what they were up to and would probably have joined them if it weren't for the fact he was the host.

It was a quaint little place the spiky-haired duo went to, somewhere hidden in the old streets of Vienna. The kind of place you wouldn't notice and walk straight past if you didn't know it was there. It wasn't at all busy, but there were just enough people to create a warm buzz of background conversations.

"How do you estimate your own chances this year?" Denmark asked, comfortably hanging on a chair, beer in hand.

"None."

"Oh, yes. Because that worked out so well for you the last two times."

"I know, but the dress alone..." Netherlands said with a sense of dread.

"She wasn't wearing that for the actual competition, right?"

"No, she'll be wearing a potato sack. Because that's so much better."

"You might want to fix that inferiority complex of yours."

"On the same note: I don't think your thing will make the finals either." The Dutchman said in a very flat and matter-of-fact tone.

"Hey!"

"I'm being realistic."

"Yeah right. I'll hold you to it." Denmark huffed, being a little offended.

"Sure. What's your guess for the winner?"

Denmark sat back in his chair. "How much I hope he never hears me say this: Sweden."

"Okay. I'm saying Russia."

Denmark scratched the side of his head. He didn't quite have the best memories of last year, when he was hosting. "I really hope things have cooled down by now. Because last year: Not funny."

"Did Aleks give you a new phone, though?"

"Yes, he did. Couldn't get him to promise he'd never drown my phone in Sve's beer again, though."

Netherlands sniggered. Even if he had promised that, he'd probably used someone else's drink to break Denmark's phone. Or he'd just stomp on it. Last Eurovision wasn't even the first tine Denmark's work phone had found its death by the hands of its owner's boyfriend. Norway was the kind of guy to do stuff like that if he felt like he had to. Even though he was one of the least violent people out there, he could be pretty scary. He had broken several Nokias.

"He wouldn't have to if you'd manage to keep it together."

"I can."

"I hope you will when you lose the bet."

"As if. You've lost more often than Gilbert shouts he's awesome."

"Bullshit, we've only had 59 Eurovisions." Netherlands deadpanned.

"In a day."

"Still."

"In an hour."

"That sounds more likely. Still a bit much though."

"No way. You've got a talent for losing bets."

"That's why I never put important stuff on bets."

"Only your dignity."

"The last bit of dignity I had was brutally destroyed last year, don't worry." The Dutchman dreaded the memory that crawled into his head. Something about neon-pink speedos and maid-dresses.

"At least you weren't completely naked." Denmark complained, trying to remember how many times he'd gone naked because of losing a Eurovision bet. And losing count.

"Quite close, though. And for fuck's sake. Clean. Your. Fucking. KITCHEN!"

"Are you still raging about that? It was only three months of stuff."

"There were rats! And mould! And goo! It's your kitchen! You make food there!" Netherlands shouted. He still had regular nightmares of the horrorshow Denmark dared to call his kitchen. And the many surprises he'd found there while cleaning.

"And I'm still not dead."

"For fuck's sake, Mat."

"Speaking of fuck, when is Matthew gonna be here?"

"Shut up, Køhler. Wednesday morning."

"Aha. And how long has it been since you last met?"

"May fifth." He already drank a good deal of beer, knowing the comment that would follow.

"Right. And I'm not allowed to say what your activities will most likely be the moment you get some alone time together?"

"Shut up."

"Dude. It's been weeks."

"Do you mind if I don't feel like discussing my sex life with you?"

"There isn't much to discuss to begin with." Denmark teased, earning him a death glare and a punch in the arm. "Teheh. Hit a nerve, did I?"

The only response was a huff.

"So, the bet's on?"

"Yup."

"We're sticking to what I mailed you?"

"Yup."

"No one's getting naked this year?"

"Nope."

"Good. Cheers. To a horrible tradition doomed to get us in prison one day."

"To horrible bets."

And before 24 hours had passed, they were in the exact same spot, drinking more beer. Only this time, it was Denmark who had dragged Netherlands along for a round of emo-drinking.

"Fuck you." The Dane sneered to his friend.

"Not with you, thanks."

"Fuck you and your bad luck. It rubs off."

"Or maybe you just can't be lucky every year, and I happen to be right sometimes."

He only grumbled something in reply before emptying half his glass in one swig.

"You know what that means, Denny."

"At least it's not naked. And never cally me that again."

"Not completely, no." Netherlands sniggered, already picturing what everyone was to see after the competition. "And I call you whatever the fuck I want after you called me Abby."

"Just you wait. You're losing the second half. I know you will."

"Sure thing. I'm running off for tonight, though. I have to pick Matty up tomorrow morning." Netherlands already stood up, but got pulled back down into his seat by a giant bear-hug performed by Denmark.

"You're not going anywhere. Not until I say you can."

"What do you have to keep me here?" Netherlands asked, still with his friend's arms around his waist.

"More beer on me?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"No. Let go, you idiot."

"If you leave, I'm gonna cry like a big baby."

"People are starting to stare, Mat."

"They'll stare even more if you leave."

"Shut up, Køhler."

Denmark opened his mouth to literally start crying like a baby. Luckily for everyone, Netherlands noticed and slapped his hand in front of the guy's mouth before he'd made an actual sound. "Fine, fine. I'll stay. Just shut your gob."

"Thank you."

"You're a nightmare."

"I love you too, Abby." This earned him a slap to the back of the head.

"You're starting to act like Aleks."

"No shit. I wonder how he hasn't killed you yet if you're this much of a fucktard around him too." Denmark could be a massive pain in the ass when on alcohol, and he was determined to keep him there, so this was bound to be a looong night.

~o~

The next morning, despite the lack of sleep, Netherlands was waiting at the airport of Vienna to pick Canada up. He would say he was used to spending months without him by now, but then he'd be lying. Every time he saw him again, he would smile like an idiot, and rush to have the guy in his arms again. Some of his colleagues and friends had accused him of acting immature, even comparing him to a teenager. And attention-seeking.  
And that had hit home. Standing out in the crowd and attracting attention was one of his least favourite things to do. Now his height made that somewhat of a challenge, so he certainly didn't want to stick out even more by excessive PDA.

He was waiting outside the big crowd, somewhere in the back, away from the masses of people. And this time, he'd stick to a simple hug, maybe a quick kiss, and definitely no extensive snuggle-sessions in a place this public.

This time he'd have the stamina to do that, and act like an adult.

Time to put that promise to himself to the test, as he could already see Canada walking through the checkout, and into the hall.

Don't be an attention-seeking teenager now, he told himself. No one wants to see that.

Two lavender eyes scanned over the hall, almost immediately catching a green pair all the way in the back.

And there was his promise to himself swiftly thrown out the window, as he was across the hall in two steps, and hugging his boyfriend as tightly as he could before even one word was spoken.

"Hey sweetie. I missed you." Canada whispered.

"I missed you too, knuffie." Netherlands combed his fingers through his long hair, something he had missed a lot.

"Ehm, Abel?"

"Hm?"

"People are starting to stare."

"So?"

"Maybe it's time to put me back on my feet?" The shorter Canadian hinted.

"Do I have to?"

"Preferably."

"Aww." A bit reluctantly, the Dutch nation put his boyfriend back on his feet, and the pair went to their hotel.

"How was your flight, Matty?"

"Too long. The moment I turned my phone back on I had over a hundred texts from Al." Canada kicked his shoes off into the corner the moment the door was shut behind him.

"I didn't know he was that overprotective."

"He isn't. He demands to know what Eurovision is and why he isn't in it. Especially now Jett is in too."

"Wikipedia. Just...Wikipedia."

"I know, but he's too lazy to read or something."

"You can always take care of that the Norwegian way: Drown your phone in beer."

"Teheh. I almost would." He said, right before falling back onto the bed like a rag doll. Netherlands joined him almost immediately, and loosely put his arms around him.  
"So how have you been?"

"Busy. There was quite a deal to prepare for a certain state visit." He winked and smiled.

"I can hardly wait. Can you believe it's been 70 years already?"

"Weird, isn't it? Be glad I don't look the part."

"And even if you did." Netherlands twirled a strand of his boyfriend's hair around his finger before tucking it behind his ear. "You'd still be the most beautiful and adorable man in the world."

"Aww. You're too sweet." Canada huddled closer, as close as he could and relaxed into the warm embrace. It had been too long ago that they'd actually had gotten the time to be together like this. They had seen each other at the beginning of the month, but that had all been work-related. They had both been so busy that the moments of intimacy were limited to quick hugs and occasional stolen kisses when they happened to have ten seconds to spare in between one work-related thing and another.

Now they had some proper time for each other, and it was moments like these that made the often long periods of time apart bearable. Those very rare times off, when they weren't Canada and the Netherlands, but just Matthew and Abel. When they could just enjoy each other's presence, talk for hours, cuddle, laugh and not worry about their bosses or the rest of the world.

~o~o~

Knuffie = Little cuddle

Hope you liked the bit of fluff at the end. I haven't written them for such a long time, I just had to give the two lovebirds their moment.

Chapter two will be up when I'm done slamming my head into the wall for what I'm having Den and Neddie do this year. Because I still can't believe I've actually thought that shit up. What is wrong with my brain?!

 **Please review?**


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